My field of paper flowers
by Wingless Rain
Summary: This one has Shadow in it, and he plays his part better than ever before.


My field of paper flowers 

-

This is my hidden agenda, my purpose unveiled for the audience on the other side of the device stuffed into my left ear.

We step out into the airlock, the one thing that separates us from the monster outside, and we both know full well that this is probably going to be our last fight.  
He's younger than I, less experienced, and, compared to me, he's naive, and not hardly as cynical as he may seem.

"Guys," a female voice calls out, brimming with energy. I wish I shared her enthusiasm and positive side. The one at my side sighs, as is so typical of him. He stretches to his full height, fingers extended to the ceiling, then he yawns. I wouldn't mind ending his existence, but he's crucial to the upcoming events, "we believe in you, both of you." I feel nothing.

Standard, fairly so.  
The heroes ascend the stairs, like in the legends of old, and the noble sidekicks and heroines all stand aside to allow us a moment of undiluted glory. I don't acknowledge him, because he's simply not worthy of my gaze, my time, or my effort.  
"Yeah, totally," he replies after a second yawn. He plays it cool, because it's what he's expected to do - what he's born to do. He's the hero that cannot be beaten, or even hurt. It's against the rules, and completely crushes the mood. "We'll kick this critter's tail to the other side of the system, then I'll take you all out for dinner and dancing." So cocky. He returns to a more neutral stance, and quickly proceeds to adjust his gloves. Meaningless.

Young, vibrant. Exhale.  
Different.  
"Don't let your guard down," I almost whisper, waiting for the unnecessary pressurization to complete. A gauge to my left tells me it's making slow progress, probably to taunt me. Technology and I were never on speaking terms, for obvious reasons. Slow, stupid, like my allies. Inhale.

I know exactly where this is going, because I've led the conversation to its current point. It's all my way of teasing him, telling him how much I disagree with his views. He pulls the tiny communications device from his ear exactly on cue - an advanced thing that interacts with the bones inside the ear to administer sound, as opposed to standard soundwaves, which would be pretty useless where we're going. Privacy.  
"You're delusional," I still don't look at him. Fold my arms across my chest, successfully manage to fight a smirk. He'll pay me back for all the trouble he's caused me this week, one way or another. "We're the good guys, remember? You're one of us, now, and heroes never lose, no matter the opposition."

Pull my own link out, just as the boy starts his technical rant. Squeeze it in my left hand, work my finger around the plastic.  
"We're going up against something extraordinary," I tell him, but it's no use. I've whined about it for the past ninety minutes, and he still hasn't caught on. It's alright, though. He'll succumb to time eventually, and then he'll thank me for all of this. "This isn't something to joke about, or take lightly. This is real, this is our death in a red-scaled package."

To prove his idiotic streak, he tilts his and spits on the wall to his right.  
"Delusional," I love it when he repeats himself. One of his biggest character flaws. "I read somewhere that villains often bleed, get hurt, and mostly end up dead, but heroes never do any of those. If we bleed, or even show a moment of weakness, we're no longer heroes, rather, we become a cross between villains and heroes, and that's not good."

Believe it or not, but he's an intellectual at times, and really likes it when you talk about life.  
"I'm not a hero," state cold facts, listen to the silent hum of machinery. Neither one of us needs it to survive, or even space suits. I might consider calling him my equal, if we get through this. "You're pure good, and live only to serve those in need, while I do this to fulfill a promise made to my best friend." It's a lie, of course. He knows it, too.

Truth is subjective.  
"You're the biggest ass I've ever met," names aren't needed at this point. In fact, I don't think they ever were. He's not so bad, once you get used to him and his antics. Lazy, loves sleep and cheap entertainment, like games, models, and comics. He's got wealth, as is to be expected, but doesn't use much of it. Books and thoughts are his best friends, which explains so much. We don't agree on many things, and I've only known him for about a week.  
A week of constant fighting, running, challenging, and planning. I wish there was more of it available to me, this thing called life, but I've already burned through all my reserves.  
"And you're the dumbest dick I'll ever know," spin slightly on the spot, throw my eyes into his face.

This is what I'd call 'ironic'  
I'm working towards a common goal, on the side of someone who tried to kill me only a short while ago, up on the walk-way to the great cannon. It spans some twenty-kilometers of steel and titanium, and the atmosphere is so thin that nothing should be able to live out there with adequate protection, yet I managed just fine.  
A nice walk, I thought, possibly a nice sprint. An offered moment to enjoy the low gravity, a few minutes to observe the hated planet below before it all ended in core-tearing blast of apocalyptic proportions.  
But then I ran into a problem - a big one. It was the creature standing before me, a creature that put up one hell of a fight- so much so that I have my reasons to suspect he's not a natural being.

He's about four-foot tall, slightly shorter than I, green-eyed, and half-covered in what looks like blue plastic armor. White gloves, red and white shoes, especially designed for wear-and-tear, and, as is obligatory, his face is covered by a really retarded smirk, which is painfully out of place, and looks like it's part of his head. Because he knows how much I hate it, he widens it.  
"At least this will be interesting," his eyes shine with this inner fire that I don't understand, then he thrusts his left hand out towards me, fingers spread. "Come on, let's kill this critter and go home."

Home.  
Has a nice ring to it.  
"I doubt you'll be able to help me," I say, even try to sound sour and bitter, but I grasp his hand with my left. Fingers close, the silly plastic pieces rub against each other, and I realize something very important, "but I won't whine if you decide to tag along."

He trusts me.

-

He's lurid, but so am I.  
The same plastic armor, only it's colored black, and completely enclosing, except for my face. Lines of red run from my wrists and ankles, for some dumb reason, and I've got one on top of my head as well.  
Red eyes, probably a sign of genetic defects.

The plastic thing's back inside my left ear, and I'm looking at myself, my hands in particular. Waiting.  
Covered by white gloves. Fold, unfold. Air smells and tastes like blood, because I'm attempting something big, something special for this extremely rare occasion. I can feel my heartbeat, even from way inside my chest.  
Then it begins, like it's done so many times before, always under controlled conditions; watched from behind reinforced glass, strapped to tables, suspended in water. Spin them around, observe every wrinkle present.  
He changes, too, but not as controlled or focused. Down on one knee, his head shakes slowly, almost rhythmically. No idea if he'll ever manage to do it again, but I don't think I'll need him in the end.

Rush of liquid, a burning sensation. My fingers are the first to twitch, followed shortly by my lower jaw.  
Body starts synthesizing blood, oxygen, and even nutrients, and quickly adds muscle mass and reinforces both sinew and bone. This is the power of change - the power of life - I was gifted with at birth. My maker never intended it to be used for good, and neither did I.  
Remind myself that this is for my friend, my old, dead, friend, who died in my arms so many years ago.

Concentrate on her smiling face as my armor is stripped off at the molecular level, only to be replaced by a flexible metal that makes me shine like a soda can.  
He's equally as silly-looking; shining yellow and almost weightless.

And then the airlock opens, finally. It's my turn to adjust my gloves, simply to prove a very basic point.

-

A red-scaled lizard, for want of a better term.  
Half of it's materialized around the cannon's barrel, the other half's a mess of machinery, tentacles, large streaks of frozen blood, and a total of four limbs, that split and change constantly. It's crowned by an eyeless head; the lack of eyes, along with all its wounds and the massive amount of fluids that float around it, are a testament to my skills.  
"You have ten minutes," the fat man whines obvious facts, "then the Ark enters Earth's orbit, and we're all dead, without exceptions."

I remember reading about this prototype, which should, by all rights, be classed as the ultimate lifeform. It lacks emotions, only serves itself, regenerates damage at an astounding rate, and possesses all skills invested in my creation.  
He locked it away, refused to admit it even existed, because of the terrible things it could do. There's no way to control it, and it's dragging the Ark with it into the Earth's atmosphere.

He's calm, of course, points at it like a child at a zoo, then he begins his flight towards it at breakneck speed. I've done this before, so I see no reason to rush. Glide towards it slowly, take my time, because it won't matter in the endanyway.  
Static, then a tentacle catches him in the face only meters away from the creature, and it looks very painful.

They're watching this fight, because that's all they can do. The youngest, a boy, calls out my name, even adds a crate of profanity to his cries, which doesn't fit him in the least.  
Stupid lizard can't hurt us, anyway, but we can't really hurt it either. Need to inflict maximum damage in as little time as possible in order to win this.

He slides a few hundred meters away, but regains himself quite quickly, then he rushes at it again.  
I can only float and watch.

-

Lifesupport's busted, thanks to me, and the prototype is actually dying, but it will take at least a year before it does so.  
He's on it again, still, agitated beyond words this time. His hands rip tentacles and armor plates loose, but the damage he does is only superficial. The creature then projects a high-powered beam from one of its limbs, and it lays waste to the yellow one, yet he keeps up his assault, even as dozens of tentacles and no less than eight weird limbs return his attacks.  
Weak points.

Remember.  
Lifesupport dome, then what serves as its heart. Drug dispensers, adrenaline-, fibroblast-, and collagen factory, not to mention the main pump for its purplish vitae. Not lethal, but the loss of it would greatly speed up our work.

Frown, or try to, as the lizard closes its maw around my ally, and actually manages to puncture his skin at four places, then he's spit out; a living missile aimed for me.

He tumbles, clearly not used to zero-gravity conditions.  
Propel myself to meet him, much like a swimming dolphin. Wait until the very last moment before I close my right hand around his left wrist, then I force us both to a complete halt.  
"Thank god," the boy cries out again, and I hear some sobs from the younger of the girls. "I thought you'd enter orbit, Sonic."

Twist myself around, so we're at least almost stationary, and as close to upright as it's possible. Release my grip, give him a cold stare, which he promptly returns with a smirk, then he gives me a thumbs up.  
An idiot to the end, even out here. We've got about seven minutes to do this, and seven minutes only.

Slide up to his left, gently close my left hand around his neck, while I place my right on his chest, just above the heart. Twist his head so he's looking at the creature, which busies itself with desperate attempts to free its massive body from the station's metal.  
It loses chunks, but gets nowhere, and I pray that he'll get what I'm trying to say.  
"Six minutes left," the burly guy with leathery skin mumbles. A nod, after some thirty seconds of nothing. Progress. I'm understood, and I quickly release my grip on his neck, then bring my free arm to his right hand, which I grab and point, as accurately as possible, at our target.

He turns his head my way, smirk faded into a grim mask of death. Serious, for the first time this week.  
Five minutes to end this.

-

Descent, at hypervelocity. It's a desperate gamble to avoid its considerable arsenal, and it might just work.  
Two streaks; one silver, one yellow. We cleave the emptiness without interference, but we're bombarded once we get within two hundred meters. Garish beams lick the blackness, some even hit the station itself as we try to juggle through the barrage, and bizarre clusters of tentacles and pieces of flesh are sent our way, their intention to capture and delay us. The heart is protected by a massive chestplate, and we'll have to rip it to pieces before we can hurt it for real.

Two consecutive beams hit him the right shoulder, and the second pierces straight through his body, but he stays by my side as we try to find an opening. A trail of frozen red follows him, but the wound's already started healing.  
We come in at an arc, aimed for its head, and I signal for him to separate, and he obeys without question. Barely slip past the beast's fanged mouth, then I spin around and try to change direction.  
My ally's a brick, and decides that offense is the best defense, so I watch with glee as his entire body plows through the lizard's head - entry point; the left eye socket.

It's slowed by the attack, but that's all. Holes open in all three remaining limbs, and a very large battery of red beams are projected from them, all of which strike my yellow ally. He's forced back, and the metal skin on his chest is torn to shreds, and I'm pretty sure he's down and out - just as expected.

No time to dawdle.  
An opening presents itself, and I can clearly make out the overgrown details of its chestplate; Gerald's personal stamp. There before I've even told myself to move, ripping, digging into flesh, twisting the four square-meter thing around like a cork. There's not enough time for it to mount an effective defensive, and I rip the twisted metal straight out of its after ten seconds of arduous labor. Several long strands of gore follows it, as well as even more flesh, then I'm cut short by something very heavy that impacts with my left shoulder blade.

Drift for a second, try to collect myself. Spot him as I sail closer to the beast. Space isn't empty anymore - now stained a healthy shade of crimson and purple. I like the tides so much that I allow the lizard to close its massive jaws around my head.  
I regret nothing. I only wanted to live, but I wasn't allowed. For that, and more, they should all have been punished, regardless of what she said. I've been suckered, and now I'm being chewed on by an oversized lizard. My help wasn't much good, either.  
Cries fill my ears, and they want me to go on, but I don't listen. The pandemonium grows, and grows. It's fueled by their desperation, their need for a champion, but both warriors have already been defeated, and the gates are sure to be smashed any moment now.

Any.  
And as I blink, I see something that fires my soul again, turns me into a silvery devil of destruction. Gerald.

My mouth swings open, just as the skull's about to crack, then I've got one hand on each jaw, and I press, pretend I'm a jack, and they yield, they move, they break, just like the triple-rows of metal teeth break my skin, but the pain's not part of me, it's part of him, them, they, and this creature.  
With a silent roar, I split the creature's mouth wide open, then I slowly arise to my full height, and the jaws break more, more, forever more. I catch movement somewhere, and I know who it is. The lizard's busy, so it strikes like a golden arrow, and tears through its chest, leaving only a hole and more chunks in its wake.

However, we're out of time, and only now do I feel the gravitational pull and the immense heat.

-

So we stand on the lifeless corpse of the lizard we were sent out to kill, our eyes firmly locked on the planet we're about to collide with.  
This thing, this act I'm currently undertaking, it's suicide. He won't survive this, and neither will I. We'll both die, and our superhuman bodies will crash and burn straight through the atmosphere, and, in only a few minutes, the majority will join us.  
There's no way - nothing, no secret power-up code, no combo to avoid it. I'll live just a bit longer than he, then I, too, will take my place on tomorrow's news.  
No.

And thus I see the last person I'd ever expect. Someone out of place, someone who's only a faint memory, tucked safely to sleep inside my overworked brain. It calls to me, tells me what I can truly do, but I'll need a hand.  
He is my hand.

Something expands within, unlocks, things move slower. I've got a voice, even though we're in outer space, and I use that voice to call out to my ally.  
"Now," I point my right hand directly ahead, and he doesn't hesitate. It's like I'm in control of him, which probably isn't far from the truth at this stage.  
Heat, unbearable. Tears at my hide, because I cleverly place myself in front of my puppet, all in order to protect him.  
Too heavy..

The Ark looms ahead, a giant testament to mankind's stupidity, and also a potential reaper.  
We reach the remains of the gun, and our combined strength sends the remains of the lizard out into the darkness. The broken metal is covered by fast-eroding parts of flesh and gore, and the heat's getting to me. My body tries to fight it, but the deterioration's too great to counter, too fast. He gives me a solemn look, and he's realized what I'm going to do.  
No escape.

And as clearly as the mesosphere shreds my being, I cup my hands before me, and I whisper the words with a clear mind and open eyes, for the first time in my existence, and it feels so good to finally do something out of my own will.  
"Chaos," the bones in my arms snap one by one, turns to juice with ear-splitting crunches, but it doesn't matter. This is my full potential, guided by a creature not of this world. Force my hands apart, unveil an orb that shines like the sun. My mind makes Sonic, for I can name my adversary now, mimic my every move. He'll suffer through this, of course, probably earn himself a nice psychosis, but he'll live to tell the tale, and the planet will be saved, for better or worse.

This is all beyond me, but I'll find my way soon.  
Yes.

And now I pass on everything to the only creature that could ever best me.  
"Control," my skin turns to molten slag, but I remain strong. The circle's completed, and the orb expands, and expands, and expands.

-

Flash of blinding light, the taste of chewed flesh and gnawed bone, then I regain my place in time. I can see him, hovering in the distance. Shining yellow, almost golden. The sun catches his back, and a radiant nimbus forms around his head.  
However, he can't get to me, not now. None of them can, but that's okay. Spin around slow, pass through another layer of fine particles.  
I watch the world unfold from my vantage point. Clear oceans, patches of green, gatherings of grayish blocks. White clouds, gray clouds, black clouds. Friction takes its toil on me, and I lose parts of my head.  
Imagine people, happy people. Smiles, faces I never knew. Parents that care, people that are grateful for this second chance.

My right arm vanishes, and I'm surprised that it survived for so long.  
Gerald, doctor Gerald Robotnik, my maker and father, created me to carry on his work after his death, but the plan went awry, and I had to spend several decades in cold storage. My new master was his grandson, Julian Robotnik, but it was only for show. Look to my left, regard the remains of that arm. A stump, little more. I question myself, because it's part of my nature. Why did I give my life, my most treasured possession, to a complete stranger. The answer, as always, seems so obvious, almost trivial.  
And I think of the choices he made, the choices that turned out both good and bad, how his friends await him, their faces covered in smiles, our names on their lips. I'll be missed, but only for a short while. The warmth strips my legs - metal, skin, muscle, bone, but I pay it no mind. The reaper already got his silver coin, so I have nothing to fear.

The passing of time heals all wounds, even those gouged into his being by my guardian.  
But I'm back to my question; the big one. Why make this sacrifice.  
Why.

Because, frankly, friends as good as those don't deserve to be unhappy.  
With those words in mind, I close my eyes, and feel the burn.

-

A place I treasured, a memory stolen from me at an early age. The garden, the tree, the hill.  
She's here, seated beneath its shadowy leaves. I've been here before, and this is my favorite place. No tests, no expectations, only tranquility.

I look at limbs that should be broken, and I see that they are whole once more. There is no blood on these hands, because they belong to an earlier period, before everything I touched and cared about started dying.  
Blue eyes regard me, the massive field of flowers that stretches on endlessly in all directions is shuffled by an unearthly breeze that gives life back to my once-dead bones.

My steps are many but slow, thanks to my short legs, but they bring me to her eventually. Trudge through the flowers, pass my hands through their white, purple, red, and black blooms. I love this place.  
Seat myself to her right, slowly creep into her lap. A warm hand moves through the quills on my head, and I feel at home, at peace, at long last.  
A violin plays, and someone's discarded a white harlequin mask before us, but I decide to forget everything.

"Mom."

-

VT2 - 2006


End file.
